


Of My Mind

by Pinkclodempathpaper



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depressed Morty Smith, Gen, No Incest, Protective Rick, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:00:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25736179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkclodempathpaper/pseuds/Pinkclodempathpaper
Summary: Morty is depressed and Rick tries to help.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THIS STORY CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF SELF HARM. Please take care of yourself and don’t read it if it’ll trigger you <3

The blade glinted. Morty rocked it side to side, watching the light dance across the clean metal surface hypnotically. He smiled. Finally, he’d found his thing, he found what worked for him, he found what helped him cope.

Morty took a minute to admire it, the blood. The only thing he had control over. He heaved himself off of the toilet seat to clean up. It was a robotic process at this point from the many times he’d repeated it prior.

Thoughts that usually swirled and twisted harshly through his head were now calmed, at least enough to ignore them. He tore off a generous chunk of toilet paper and pressed down on his cuts to stop the bleeding, then wrapped it around his wrist as a makeshift bandage. He took some more, clumsily wiped, and ignored the larger-than-normal pool of blood(now smeared thanks to his cleaning efforts) still dropping onto the white tiles. Come to think of it, he remembered hearing about some guy in prison that shaped TP as a sword to escape. _This stuff should totally be labeled as a multipurpose product_ , he thought.

The bathroom door slid open and Morty stumbled back to his room. It was like nothing even happened, like nothing _ever_ happened. He face-planted onto his bed and groaned into his pillow when he realized he had homework tonight. Uselessly flopping his limbs around in an attempt to get to his desk, he decided that he’d just lay there until the motivation hit him...but, like many times before, the motivation would probably never come. He’d get detention tomorrow一at least, if Rick didn’t take him out of school first.

Weight crept into his bones like spilled putty.

He was so frustrated. This feeling, this depression, was neverending torture within the confints of his own mind. He was too far gone to even cry. All he could muster was a pathetic attempt to suffocate himself with a pillow. Everyone was right when they said he was stupid, his classmates were right when they called him ‘retarded’. He really was as useless as he lived up to be, and more. Rick was the only one who was mediocrely nice to him, but even then Morty knew he was just a shield.

He felt so foggy, too foggy. His brain didn’t process the warm liquid leaking off his wrist and wettening his sleeves and staining the bedsheets around him. His vision doubled and swayed, almost like he was high, was he high? He couldn’t remember.

He felt the vibrations of a knock on his room door. It was a disorderly, haphazard knock, indicating Rick was on the other side. All at once, the energy in Morty’s room transferred from calm to chaotic. He could slightly hear Rick talking to him, probably ranting about something, but he couldn’t quite make out the slur of words. Morty didn’t feel like moving, actually he kinda felt sleepy. He distantly heard his name being called, and ghost fingers grabbed and yanked on him. He really didn’t feel like putting up with whatever bullshit Rick was doing so he let his mind drift to other places, like when he was young. He remembered that when he was 6 he dropped his ice cream on a dirty playground floor, Summer had swooped in and let him share her’s. Or when he met a really nice girl and they pretended to dig up dinosaur bones together.

He wanted to relive those memories forever, but a cold darkness egged him into an unconscious numbness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters might not be the longest since I'm dabbling with my writing but I do hope it's enjoyable anyways ;3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are easily triggered by description of depression or references to self harm then I do highly suggest not reading this.
> 
> ...and also don't read if you get triggered by awkward conversations ;)
> 
> Thank you and enjoy

Everything was silent. Even the birds held their breath through lack of chipper chimes. The slanted world left Rick stumbling dangerously through a beaten path, one he’d traveled far too many times. His brow creased and tension wrapped him in a suffocating blanket.

His dry eyes dangled off the edge of a cliff with anticipation to each lazy breath Morty took; the rise and fall kept him sane. It’d been 2 hours and 14 minutes. 2 hours and 14 minutes since he’d injected healing serum into Morty, and 2 hours and 14 minutes of patient waiting. 

Rick dragged his eyes to his digital clock. 2 hours and 15 minutes.

A small groan from Morty’s mouth left Rick reeling with a burst of unkempt energy.

The boy swatted his hands up in front of his face in an attempt to block out the light.

Any shells of a speech Rick might have prepared for this moment got immediately ripped into the ocean by a strong wave of relief and anxiety. Anything he did, he had to do carefully and slowly, as to not overwhelm Morty or make the situation worse than what it needed to be.

“M-Morty…?”

Morty clutched the blanket like a teddy bear and shifted into the fetal position. He made no move to open his eyes.

“5 more minutes,” he whined.

Delicate butterflies fluttered and glided through the air of the room with enchanted grace. A smile played at Rick’s lips. The tranquility held him hostage to the idea of pretending everything was fine again, where he didn’t need to face his grandson or admit the fact that he needed to change too.

No.

“Morty, buddy… we- we need to talk.”

Morty’s crust-encased eyelids cracked open. He looked around the unfamiliar room and immediately became as tense as a large book, yet as flimsy as a single sheet of paper.

“Wha… why am I in your room?”

Rick grimaced. 

Morty’s face went slack with the hurdling realization. He rocketed his eyes towards his uncovered arms, the pearly unmutilated flesh taunted him.

“Oh,” an icy numbness poured down his back. 

Heat rose to his cheeks, water welled in his eyes, and his fists clenched sharply. He sat up and pushed the covers off of him, he hugged his knees.

“What about it?”

Rick faintly hesitated, he pursed his lips together and fiddled with a small piece of scrap metal. He spoke automatically.

“Why-?”

No. That is not what he wanted to say. Remember, he needed to treat things delicately.

“I mean,” he corrected himself with a grunt, “How’re you feeling?”

Morty looked up bewilderedly and stuttered, “You-you don’t have to do that. Act like you care, I mean,” then quickly added, “Not that you don’t care, I just know how much you hate emotional stuff...”

“Morty, I- I know I’m an asshole but I’m not that much of an asshole,” Rick took an uncomfortable breath and repeated, “So… how are you feeling?”

Morty was embarrassed. His mouth was dry and he was sure that he looked like a dead fish. He didn’t want to take up more of Rick’s time than he had to, there were so many more important things a genius could be doing.

“Fine,” he said, and for some reason his tongue trembled; was that even possible?

“We don’t have to, uh, talk about this now if you don’t want to... since you just woke up and all that, but I do need you to tell me how you’re actually feeling.”

Rick looked up with a patient anticipation. 

Morty’s arm twitched. He knew Rick didn’t actually care. A replacement Morty must be a pretty annoying process if he'd rather have the gall to act like he gave a shit. Oh well, Morty would play along for now, I’d make things easier for the both of them.

“I do feel fine- well, at least better than before. And I don’t really want to do anything bad right now,” Morty tried to make himself sound normal but the movements of his jaw were rigid, “I’m a bit tired and still trying to process everything that- that’s happening.”

Rick distantly nodded, obviously trying to pick more out of the words than what was there. 

“We can watch interdimensional TV or something and just relax for the time being. Is-is that okay?”

Morty pushed against invisible hands holding him in place and nodded stiffly. All he wanted to do was go to his room.

“Alright! But we will have to talk later.”

_Oh lord._

He followed Rick with his head down. He played with his shirt, the reflective bright yellow giving him a slight headache.

The couch had never felt more uncomfortable. No position gave any relief to the strained pressure. 

Ball Fondlers droned in the background, something Morty would normally be content with, but now seemed unimportant. All he wanted to do was hide in his bed alone. He wanted to have wounds and blood leaking from his body, he didn’t like the claustrophobic feeling of his skin fully wrapped around him. He needed a release.

The liquid metal steadily drained from his heart to his blood stream. There was too much of it, there always was. It made him slow and heavy, weak and sad. It blocked his tear ducts so that his cries would only ever be shaky hands and dull eyes.

Morty was coming to find that he was just like his dadーsomething he’d tried to stop but found it inevitableーall of his relationships would never be anything but pity.

  
  



End file.
